Doing Laundry
by GWA
Summary: Written by JimVincible as part of the July Guess the Author Contest.


Welcome to the first Guess the Author contest. I am you host, Jason 'Zaratan' Jones, and I hope you enjoy this little treat we have for you. A number of writers have submitted stories to be placed under the GWA name, and it your job to guess who wrote each story. There are no names attached to the stories right now (though there will be afterwards) and no author's notes. It is up to you, the readers, to guess who wrote each story based on the style and so forth. Simply email me at zaratan4 at hotmail dot com with your responses. The one who was closest or most accurate will select the topic for the next round.

For this one, the theme was simply… Doing Laundry. Our contestants could do with that as they will, and boy have they ever.

And now, on to our contestants;

**Zaratan** – Host supreme, celebrating his first year here, and hoping to become as productive again as in the past, with an on-going series and many other stories under his belt.

**Blackbird** – A newer player to the Kim Possible scene, with a deft touch with both one-shots and a popular Kigo series in the works.

**Spectre666** – An amazing talent with a broad range, moving from angst to comedy to smuff. Made spankings an interesting thing here.

**Yuri Sisteble** – His interesting glimpse into the future of KP and crew continue to dazzle one and all.

**Jim Vincible** – With several stories under his belt, this talented writer has started a major epic in the making. Considering he has only just started here recently, he is quickly making his way up to the big leagues here.

**Whitem** – Comedy, action, drama, smuff, he does it all with style and flair.

**Yvj **– A master at the art of the one-shot, and with several major stories, this artist is looking to claim a spot at the top.

And there are your writers for this one folks. Check out all 7 stories, and make your picks for Guess the Author before July 31st. Oh, and none of these characters belong to us, we're just using them. Have fun!

Hey folks, thanks all for reading and enjoying. Now, folks, for the big moment… the following story was written by… **JimVincible**! Be sure to check out everything else by this author, and stay tuned for the next Guess the Author!

**Doing Laundry - By JimVincible**

On a gently sloping, verdant hilltop in Sonoma County, California, a long, low house comprised of large picture windows and geometric lines overlooked acres of meticulously cultivated vineyards. A walk through the old vines themselves would reveal them to be mostly pinot noir, the most difficult grape to grow but perhaps the most rewarding with its rich, complex flavor that one well-known sommelier described as "sex in a glass." The vintner himself, however, preferred a two acre patch of ancient zinfandel vines growing at the far end of the pinots, the vines now full of the thin-skinned, powerfully flavorful grapes. He could appreciate their history, how they had formed the bedrock of the wine industry in America. The zinfandel vines were over a hundred years old.

These vines were harvested and the grapes processed into wine not far from the house overlooking them. The winery and tasting room was located on another hill, visible easily from the fields or the house. Guests both local and from far away stopped as they toured the historic wine-producing region for a taste and perhaps to pick up a few bottles. Since the winery's purchase four years earlier it had prospered under its new management.

The vintner and owner himself slowly rocked in an antique chair on the porch of the house, observing the fields and the winery from a vantage point sheltered by the roof from the intense midday heat. Ron Stoppable turned to his wife, who was seated in a similar chair at his side, wearing sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat pulled low. That couldn't quite hide her luxurious mane of red hair.

"It's almost harvest time," he observed. "Another week, maybe. The grapes are getting fat."

"This is going to be the year," his wife replied encouragingly. "You've done so much for those old vines, pruning, removing the excess bunches, checking the soil. The least they could do is produce a perfect bottle of zin."

"This _is_ the year," Ron replied. At forty-four he had had enough of the business world. They could find another toy designer to replace him, and even if they couldn't, it was time to leave. Ron had taken his savings and cashed in the equity on the house in Santa Monica to pursue his dream, a dream that had been maturing in the back of his mind since that first glorious drop of Russian River Valley pinot had touched his tongue years ago. As for his wife, Kim Possible could work anywhere. As Ron struggled and toiled to revitalize an aging and deteriorating vineyard, she had merely continued her "save the world thing," albeit from a different home base.

Still, they both knew that it had to end soon. It had finally reached the disturbing point where most of the villains Kim faced were younger than she was, giving both she and Ron the disturbing sensation that they were playing the part of crotchety old folks, angrily shouting at the young kids to keep off the grass. Soon, she would have to quit the hero business, and Ron wanted to have a stable home where they could both enjoy growing old.

This house, and the winery, promised to be the focal point for that future together. Ron could see that day when they both decided to end the decade-spanning career as heroes becoming clearer and clearer in his mind. They would be able to focus on each other, completely, for the first time in their lives.

Without averting his gaze from the vineyard below, Ron reached out his left hand to the small wooden table between the rockers, on which two nearly drained glasses and a half-full bottle of locally produced Carignane, which was a generally substandard grape, but which had incredible potential if grown in low yields on slopes and left to age. Instead of finding his glass, however, Ron felt the warm hand of his wife resting on the table. He instinctively engulfed her small, smooth hand in his own large, rough one and, turning to face his wife, smiled.

After a few moments enjoying the warmth and feel of each other, they let go and reached for their respective glasses. Ron downed what little scarlet liquid remained his glass at once, enjoying its full body and faint astringency. His wife, meanwhile, gasped faintly and muttered an expletive under her breath. Ron glanced over to see a deep crimson stain spreading across the chest of her white summer dress. It was disturbing to see the stain, so similar to blood, on the otherwise immaculate garment. Ron was suddenly seized by an unexpected, unidentifiable panic, but immediately forced it out of his mind.

"It'll bleach out," he said, shaking off the unpleasant feeling. "Don't worry."

"I'm more upset that I spilled some of that excellent bottle," Kim replied with a smile that Ron answered with a grin. The episode over, they returned their glasses to the table and resumed holding hands.

As Ron prepared to mouth a few simple words of affection he was interrupted by a familiar set of four tones that had been interrupting him at inconvenient moments for decades. Kim removed her right hand from his left and used it to press a button on the watch she wore on her left wrist. Immediately, the holographic image of a trim, dapper man in a suit with closely-cropped dark hair and coffee-colored skin appeared in the air over the watch dial.

"What's the sitch, Wade?" Kim asked the projection.

"It's Dr. D. Junior up to his old tricks again," Wade replied in a resonant, authoritative voice. "Looks like he's set up a broadcast antenna in Wyoming that will cause all of the bison within five hundred miles to stampede.'

"He's trying to take over the world . . . with buffalo?" Kim asked incredulously

"They're actually American bison, but yes," Wade replied.

"Like father, like son," Kim responded, rolling her eyes. "Well, you know what this means," she said to Ron.

"You're sure you can handle this by yourself?" Ron asked, touching a hand to his wife's shoulder.

"I don't care how young and fit he is, he's still a Drakken. I'm positive," Kim replied reassuringly.

"Alright," Ron acknowledged with a half-smile. "I won't wait up."

"See you in the morning," Kim replied. She stood up, leaned over to present her husband with a quick kiss on the lips, and began walking away. Ron could hear her requesting a ride to Cheyenne as she rounded a corner of the house.

After Kim disappeared, Ron continued to enjoy the balmy weather for a while longer. Before he realized it, the rest of the bottle had disappeared and he decided to go inside. The afternoon passed uneventfully into evening, and Ron enjoyed a simple dinner of pan-seared duck breast and mission figs, both obtained locally, with which he paired a bold cabernet sauvignon from the cellar. Now, however, he was faced with a nearly full bottle and nobody to help him drink it. Of course, he could simple recork it with a stopper and save it for tomorrow, but something told him to give in and enjoy the evening alone.

Kim was gone on a mission, as happened often, and he had little business to attend to tonight. He poured himself a second glass and began to enjoy it as he made notations in the books. Business was doing well, if not exactly booming. They were turning a profit.

Ron sighed as his thoughts turned once again to his wife. They were not exactly getting any younger, and each passing mission became a little more dangerous as their reflexes inexorably slowed. It was only a matter of time before disaster struck, but how could he broach the subject of early retirement with Kim? She had known nothing other than hero work as a career for so many years, and there would be an inevitable long stretch where they both miss it terribly. Still, Ron knew at some point they had to stop. Perhaps he could gather the courage to talk to her about it tomorrow. In the meantime, at least, he could pleasantly distract himself.

Ron sat in his favorite leather chair in the living room, and read a thick book between spicy and somewhat herbaceous sips of the complex, high-tannin wine. At some point, he recognized with a mixture of pride and dismay, he had finished the bottle. This left little to do save get to bed, and, after donning soft pajamas, Ron fell into a deep sleep almost before he touched the sheets.

He slept deeply, his mind empty of thoughts and at peace with the world. No movement could be observed in the bedroom save the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

Then, Ron's eyes snapped open. Without warning, Kim was there, wearing her white dress from earlier in the day but without the tell-tale stain. Ron couldn't tell where she had come from, but she appeared to him, calling out for him. He got out of bed and followed her as she left the bedroom and began walking down the hall, only to stop at a door which Ron could not remember seeing before. Before he could ask his wife about the strange door she put a finger to his lips to forestall any questions, and opened the door with her other hand to reveal a brilliant light shining from within. She beckoned for Ron to follow and entered the room ahead of him.

Inside, all was white; walls, ceiling, and floor. When the door closed, no seam or knob remained to indicate that it had ever been there. This was definitely no place in the house that he knew about. What was going on? Ron looked around, glancing left and right to try to get his bearings. Without anything to break up the solid white it was impossible to find a visual reference. It was as if they were floating in a colorless otherworldly purgatory.

When Ron refocused his attention on his wife, he noticed a tiny scarlet dot on the front of her dress, which slowly began to expand. He stepped forward to get closer to her and examined the strange spot.  
"What is it?" he asked, but received no answer. Kim did not respond to him, but merely stood stock-still. Meanwhile, the redness continued to expand, and Ron noticed that it was wet and thick, thicker than wine. A distinct metallic odor began to fill his nostrils. Blood, it was definitely blood.

"No!" he said. "It's only wine. It's not blood. It's just a little wine!"

Kim didn't respond.

Ron grabbed Kim's dress and began to frantically scrub the red spot using the sleeve of his shirt. "We can bleach it out, it's really nothing. It's just a few drops of wine. I can get it out." His efforts, however, had no effect.

The redness grew, expanding outward until the entire chest area of Kim's dress was red and wet, soaked through with blood that continued to pour from some invisible wound.

"No, please!" Ron shouted, falling on his knees before his wife, who continued to stand unmoving before him.

The red stain grew, encompassing the entire front of the dress. By now, droplets of thick red liquid were beginning to fall to the white floor, marring its unbroken color and coalescing into a scarlet puddle.

"Please stop!" Ron cried. "It's not real, it's just wine!"

Kim slowly, ponderously shook her head no, and touched one finger to her chest. When she held it up again, Ron could see that it too now dripped red liquid. A single drop fell from her outstretched index finger and landed on the top of his hand, which then lay on the floor as Ron prostrated himself before his wife. He instantly recoiled as if bitten by a venomous serpent. The red droplet was warm, far too warm for wine.

"No!" Ron screamed again. "Get it out! Get it out!" He looked up to see rivulets of red beginning to run from the corners of Kim's mouth, and thin scarlet currents streaming from her eyes and down the contours of her face.

"You can't die! Kim! Please don't do this to me! No!" Ron screamed before lapsing into incoherent shouts.

"Ron," his bloodied wife intoned. Ron could barely see her through a veil of tears that obstructed his vision.

"Get away from me!" he yelled.

"Ron," she repeated again.

"No!"

"Ron!" she said a third time, more forcefully.

Ron opened his eyes and saw his wife standing over him in her familiar mission clothes; a black shirt and cargo pants. She was uninjured, though he noticed her shirt sleeve was torn in two places. There had been a time when such physical evidence of a close shave was unheard of. Suddenly, Ron was hit with a terrible headache and a chill from the cold floor beneath him.

"Where . . .?" he began.

"Let me help you up," Kim offered in a concerned tone of voice. "You're in the laundry room, though how you got here in this state is beyond me."

"The . . . laundry room?" Ron repeated as Kim helped him unsteadily to his feet.

"Yes. How much did you have to drink, anyway?"

"A bottle," Ron replied, rubbing his temples. "And maybe another three-quarters of a bottle?"

"Lightweight," Kim teased. "I'm just glad I got back early so I could wake you up from that horrible nightmare. Anyway, you're not going to believe this, I hardly do myself."

"Believe what?" Ron asked.

"Take a look," his wife replied, and gestured to the long table in the middle of the laundry room. He gasped as he saw his wife's white dress on the table and an empty bottle of bleach lying next to it on its side. The wine stain was completely gone. Ron then noticed that both the washer and dryer's doors were open as if they had been recently in use.

"Did I . . . _do _that?" he asked incredulously.

"Apparently," his wife replied, "you've been doing laundry in your sleep all night."

"All night," Ron muttered. "What time _is_ it?"

"It's four-thirty in the morning," his wife replied. "Now, you'll have to tell me what that nightmare was all about."

"I . . . first we need to talk about something," Ron stated firmly.

"Okay," Kim replied questioningly. "Shoot."

"I love you, Kim Possible," he began slowly, "more deeply than any other man has ever loved a woman. I love you too much to risk losing you, and you know we're getting too old to keep this up. I'm not too tired or drunk to see the rips in your shirt. It's only a matter of time before something far worse happens. I had a nightmare tonight worse than any I've ever had in my life. You were covered in blood, KP, and the worst part is I know it could come true someday. Kim, I think it's time to hang up our mission gear and start _living_."


End file.
